


The Grudge

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Blood and Injury, Bruises, Carrying, Chains, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, Face Slapping, Girls in Chains, Hugs, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injured Rowena, Injury, Kidnapped Rowena, Kidnapping, Rescue, Rescue Missions, Revenge, Rowena Gets A Hug, Rowena Needs A Hug, Rowena Whump, Slapping, Whump, Worried Reader, Worry, Wounds, concerned reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 17:05:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15845622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: Rowena gets kidnapped. Reader enlists Sam's help in rescuing her.





	The Grudge

You weren't fond of asking the Winchester for help, but when Rowena got kidnapped by someone you greatly suspected was a hunter, you'd had no other choice than to show up at the Bunker's door in tears and beg for assistance. Sam had agreed to help you as soon as the words "He took Rowena" left your mouth. Dean was still in the wind, body taken hostage by Michael, wreaking god knew what kind of havoc somewhere far, far away, carefully warded from all kinds of locator spells. As much as it pained him, Sam couldn't help him; not yet.

But he could help Rowena.

As soon as he saw the surveillance video taken in front of your house, he recognized the man sneaking up to Rowena, injecting her with something, and dragging her limp body to his van. Just as you'd suspected, he was a hunter. Sam and Dean had met him on a case a few months back. From what the younger Winchester had told you, the man was not a fan of witches — and that was putting it mildly.

You shuddered at the information, heartbeats fastening, breaths quickening, cold, dreadful shivers cascading down your spine. It took all your remaining self-control to keep the devastated sobs from tearing from your throat. Now was not the time for breakdowns. Sam had noticed your struggle and was quick to assure you that everything would be okay. Rowena was tough, he'd said. Whatever the bastard had intended to do to her, she could take it. She would survive, just as she'd survived witch hunts, The Grand Coven, The British Men of Letters, and Lucifer. If the Devil himself couldn't take her out for good, neither could a lowly hunter.

A lowly hunter with a seething hatred for witches, who had followed her home for the sole reason of taking her.

You knew a grudge when you saw one.

_Oh, god. No, no, no, no, no._

Breathe. You had to breathe. Sam was right; Rowena was strong. She could take whatever torment the bastard had intended to inflict on her. You hoped it wouldn't come to that. Though, if given a choice between witch-killing bullets and torture, you would always go with the latter. Injuries could be taken care of. Death, final death, could not.

The only thing you could do was hope the hunter hadn't discovered witch-killing bullets.

Thankfully, Sam knew where the bastard lived, and as soon as he'd recognized him, the two of you were on your way. Words swirled in your brain the entire way there; words of worry, of anxiety, of everything wrong and bad that could have happened to Rowena in the last few hours. How badly had the bastard tortured her? If he wanted her dead, he would have killed her on the spot. He wouldn't have taken her just to kill her right away. A real witch hater would make it last, prolong the agony of the object of his scorn.

You hoped he had. As much as the thought of Rowena being tortured yet again filled you with dread, it was a preferable alternative to death. Let him hurt her. Let him hurt her all he wanted, but Chuck, let him leave it at that. Let her be there when you and Sam show up, bruised and battered but alive. Let her open her eyes and look at you, her lover, her soulmate, her savior. Let her say your name, and let you hold her tight and make promise after promise of getting her well.

Let her live.

No matter at what cost, just let her be alive.

The hunter lived in a village. His house, small, wooden, seemingly unkempt, was surrounded by a thick forest spreading for almost a mile in every direction. No close neighbors. No passersby. No witnesses. He could run a torture business here without having to worry about sound isolation; no one could hear his victims scream for miles. You swallowed a lump that had formed in your throat, the the thought sending your mind into overdrive, pictures of bloodied walls and burnt up remains flashing in your mind. A breath, and you could smell charred flesh again, the aroma as fresh as the day you'd first smelled it. It had made sure you would never forget it.

God, how you wanted to forget it.

 _She's fine,_ you told yourself. She wasn't burned. She _couldn't_ be burned. This was a hunter you were dealing with. As cruel as they could be, they weren't the Devil. Nothing they could do could compare to what Lucifer was capable of doing, not in the slightest. And Lucifer was dead; he'd paid for everything he'd done to her, to Sam, to countless other innocents with his own life.

Soon, this hunter would be joining him.

Sam took out his gun and stalked over to the house. You followed a this heels, looking around for any sound of danger. The last thing you wanted was for the bastard to sneak up on you from behind. Predators tended to be very protective of their prey; he wouldn't let you take your girl without a fight.

You were more than ready to fight to the death to get her back.

Sam peeked inside through a dirty window, then opened the door and, raising up on the tips of his toes, slowly stepped inside. You followed his example. Looking around one last time, you closed the door after you, careful not to make a noise. The house looked even smaller from the inside. It was dirty, furniture and clothes scattered around and covered in thick layers of dust. You instinctively brought a hand to your face, shielding your mouth and nose from the filth. Old family photographs hung on the walls. Some depicted a family of three, mother, father, and son, all of them flashing smiles. A genuinely happy family, from what you could see. Some were only of the mother, of the son, and of the father. Others featured the son with either parent. They were smiling on every single one. One of those constantly happy families. Or good actors. Everything was possible.

A loud whining sound suddenly echoed throughout the small house, followed by a shout of insults and orders to shut up. You froze, eyes going wide as they met with Sam's equally startled ones. He hurried in the direction of the noise, you right in tow. _Please, be okay,_ you prayed. _Please, be okay. Please, be okay._ Fear made way to anger, and your fists and teeth clenched. The bastard had harmed your girl. You were going to kill him.

You couldn't protect her from Lucifer, but you could damn well make some lowly human pay for what he'd done.

"Get away from her!" Sam barked, pointing his gun into the small room in the back of the house.

What you found inside made blood freeze solid in your veins.

Rowena was covered in bruises. Her face was red and purple, as if someone had smeared crayons over it, using her skin as a canvas for their morbid artwork. Her white blouse was dirty, drenched in blood that had dripped from the wounds on her face. Chains hung from the ceiling, binding her wrists up over her head. Iron, you assumed. You expected nothing less from a witch-hating hunter. Her feet were bare, one firmly placed on the ground, while the other hovered in the air, its sole, as well as the floor underneath it, covered in jelly-like, almost dry blood.

 _She's alive,_ you told yourself. She was injured, but alive. You tried to focus on that. The more you looked at her, though, the harder it was to be joyful. She was beaten up. Tortured. Abused. She kept her pained screams hidden, but she was still hurting. Her wounds still stung.

You wanted to cry, but you held the tears back. You needed to be strong for Rowena. You needed to be her rock, her safe haven. You needed to be what she needed you to be — what she'd been for you countless times in the past.

"Rowena!" you called out before you could stop yourself, the need to say her name out loud, to make your presence known, to let her hear you overriding your other senses.

Rowena shifted her gaze to you. Her eyes were as tormented as her body, as wounded, as pained. The look in them was pleading, begging you to be careful, and, at the same time, begging you to free her, to get her away from this hell.

"I can't do that, Sam," the hunter said, gritting his teeth. He was standing beside her, fists and clothes bloody. You were willing to bet none of it was his.

Anger flared inside you as if someone had flicked on a switch and turned the setting up to max. That man — that monster — had no business standing that close to her. He had no business looking at her like she was nothing, like she was an object rather than a person, while his hands were still dripping with her blood — blood that he had drawn with merciless beatings. And he had no business looking that fucking smug about it.

"Come on, man," Sam said, trying to reason with him. His grip on his gun tightened. "You know better than this."

"This is my hunt," the man told him. "Stay out of it."

Sam took a moment to look at Rowena, then his eyes returned to the hunter. "This isn't a hunt, Dan."

"This thing's a witch!" he said as if it explained everything, and pointed to your girlfriend. It took all your self control not to hurl yourself at him. Rowena was many things, but she wasn't _a_ thing. She was a person. She felt and loved and hurt, just like everyone else.

You couldn't say the same for Dan.

"She's a friend," Sam said.

Dan looked at him as if he'd grown a second head. "You're friends with… _this?"_ He gave a small but firm shove to Rowena's side, eliciting a whimper. A look of betrayal spread across his face. "Do you know what your _friend_ did, Sam?"

You didn't care. Whatever it was he was blaming her for, you didn't give a damn. You loved her as she was, with all her flaws and virtues. She was by no means perfect; she was far from it, and that was what made her perfect to you. She carried her flaws with pride, unapologetically, not giving a damn what anyone else said. One of her many qualities you adored.

"She killed my father," Dan said, without waiting for Sam to respond.

"It was self-defense," Rowena said, looking from you to Sam. Begging you both to believe her. "That man had tried to kill me. I was defending myself."

"Shut up!" Dan exclaimed, slapping her across her face so hard the sound echoed, loud, painful, through the room.

"Don't touch her!" you snarled, ready to lunge at him. Sam's arm wrapped around the small of your back, keeping you in place.

"My father was a good man. A good _hunter._ He was just doing his job, and this cunt killed him!"

What was she supposed to have done? Let him kill her?

"She killed one of our own, Sam," Dan said, voice a tad lower. Trying to elicit sympathy. You hoped Sam wouldn't fall for that, but, knowing him, you couldn't rule anything out. As friendly to non-humans as hunters could be, they rarely turned on their own. Especially when it came to a witch who'd killed one of them. "How can you be friends with someone like that?"

"It was self-defense, Sam, I swear," Rowena said, desperate, pleading. You never doubted her, not for a mere second, but now you were one hundred percent sure she was telling the truth. She always called Sam Samuel, or giant, or some other witty nickname. She only ever used his actual name when she was genuine.

"She's a cold-blooded killer!" Dan said before Sam could say anything.

It was a split-second decision. You stepped forward and snatched the gun from Sam's outstretched hand. Stunned, startled, he had no time to react, no time to try to stop you. You pointed the gun at Dan, directly between his eyes, and, letting all your frustration, your anger, your rage out, said, "I don't give a fuck."

And you pulled the trigger.

A shot echoed, and blood spurted out the back of his head, spraying the wall behind him like paint from a can. His body fell down with a thud, dead, lifeless. Dan the hunter was no more.

You couldn't resist a triumphant smile. The bastard had kidnapped Rowena, chained her up, and tortured her without a single care in the world. He wanted her to pay for his father's death, to hurt, to beg for mercy only he and he alone could provide her — mercy he would never, ever have given her. And you killed him. You made him go away. You protected your girl, just like you promised you would every time she'd wake up covered in sweat or break into tears at random as bad memories suddenly hit. You made good on your word. A sense of accomplishment settled down inside of you, feeling right at home; as pretentious as it may have seemed, you were proud of yourself.

"You didn't have to kill him," Sam told you.

Right. Of course. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "Can't you see what he did to her?" You looked to Rowena's wounded, chained up form.

Sam followed your eyes, features twisting with guilt. "You could have wounded him."

You shot him a glare that threatened murder. You'd already killed once today; if threatened, or too annoyed, you wouldn't hesitate to do it again. "Would you be saying that if he wasn't human?"

He sighed, then turned his head to the side. He had the decency to look ashamed.

Shoving the gun back into his hands, you hurried over to Rowena. There were more important matters at hand than arguing over the morality of killing a psychotic hunter. He hurt your girl and you killed him. Easy as that. If Sam had an issue with it, he was more than welcome to email you at idontgiveafuck@gmail.com and express his deepest concerns. Surely that would make him feel better.

"I'm right here, sweetheart," you said, voice softening, hunter drama instantly forgotten. All that mattered now was freeing Rowena and getting her to safety. Her wounds, while not grave, needed care. She'd suffered enough for one day.

"About bloody time!" she said with fake exasperation, playfulness glinting in her eyes. Have you not known her, you would have taken offense.

"I came, didn't I? Even brought reinforcements."

"Some reinforcements they are," she said, then gave Sam a small smile. He returned it. When dealing with pain — or any other kind of physical discomfort — turn to shit-talking. Rowena's life motto.

"Don't be mean," you said.

"Or what? You'll leave me?" You shot her an incredulous look. She sighed. "Just joking, darling."

"Don't joke about things like that," you told her. You went to hug her, then, remembering she'd been tortured for hours and had probably had terrible bruises under her clothes, lowered your arms and settled for pressing your forehead to hers. Far from the closeness you craved, but it was something. Bare minimum was more than appreciated, given the circumstances. As always, her skin was warm, almost hot against yours, soft and tender as the finest silk. You melted into the touch, wanting more, so much more. Rowena was an addictive creature; one simple, seemingly meaningless touch, and you were hers. You wanted more. She was a drug, and you never wanted to quit her. "I'd never leave you, sweetheart. Never."

"I know, darling," Rowena whispered.

"Can you hold her while I undo the chains?" Sam asked, looking up at her chained up wrists.

"Of course."

Gently, you put your arms around her. The Winchester worked fast, freeing one then the other wrist in no time. Rowena fell against you, losing her balance, and your grip on her tightened to keep you both on your feet.

"Can you walk?" Sam asked.

"No," Rowena replied. "He cut my foot." Her voice was thick with scorn.

You grit your teeth in anger. "I wanna kill him all over again," you hissed. This time you wouldn't shoot him; that was too merciful for a sadist. You would torture him until he begged you to stop, until he begged for the sweet release of death. You would make sure the last breath he ever took hurt like a bitch. The bastard deserved nothing less.

"My wee savage," Rowena teased, giving a small chuckle.

"For you, always."

"Och, you're making me blush." Her voice grew a tad serious. "The bloody bastard didn't like me kicking him."

"That why he cut you?"

"Aye."

"Well, you _can_ pack a mean kick." Sam raised an eyebrow. You shrugged. "I sleep with her. She's formidable."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Rowena said.

"Isn't it?" you asked. She pouted. You grinned. "I'm proud of you."

"For what? Getting myself kidnapped and battered?"

She was jumped; the bastard had sneaked up on her from behind like the coward he was. No self-assured hunter would have sneaked up on his prey, drugged her, and then drove her away in his van — on that note, creepy much? — and bound her with chains he knew would nullify her power. He was a weak man, both in terms of physicality and personality. He'd created an unfair advantage for himself and taken it. You couldn't hold that against Rowena.

Hell, even if she had been able to fight him off and had somehow lost, you wouldn't blame her. She was the victim here. She was tormented and abused for hours. She was beaten, and shouted at, and cut. Even if you wanted to. you couldn't find it in you to point a finger at her.

"For being brave," you said.

Rowena stared, startled. She hadn't expected you to say something like that, in front of witnesses, no less. Usually, you saved the mushy stuff for the privacy of your home. Quickly regaining her composure, she raised her head high, proud, confident, and said, "Did you expect anything less?"

"You know I didn't."

You just wanted her to know you were proud of her. You wanted her to know it every second of every day, for if anyone deserved to be acknowledged, even when it came to usual, mundane things, it was her. She'd been taken for granted, ridiculed, and ignored for long enough. It was time someone acknowledged her.

She knew it. You didn't have to continue the sentence out loud for her to know what you had meant to say. A smile graced her battered face, love, gratitude, affection shining bright and strong in that small curl of lips. Beautiful, even in the aftermath of a horrible ordeal. Rowena in all her glory. All she had to do was flash a genuine smile, and suddenly all was right in the world. At times you thought that smile should be illegal. Nah. It was already rare enough as it was, and reserved mostly for you. No point in making fruit that was already all but forbidden even less accessible.

Sam had offered to carry her. Rowena protested, but given the condition of her foot (you hadn't had time to examine it, but her holding it up in the air and refusing to even lower it to stand on her tiptoes was indicator enough that the wound was very, very bad), she had no choice but to let him scoop her up in his arms and carry her to the Impala. Her wounds protested the movement and she let out a few hisses and moans, but for the most part, she kept her mouth shut. Mustn't show weakness. Sam seeing her bruised and bloody was embarrassing enough.

You slid into the backseat and and helped Rowena get comfortable as Sam laid her down beside you. Her head rested on your lap. As Sam got in the driver's seat and started the car, you grabbed hold of her hand and squeezed. Rowena squeezed back with equal ferocity. The two of you hadn't felt each other in hours; a lot had transpired since your last display of affection. She needed you to make her feel better, to make all the bad she'd gone through fade, at least for a little while, in place of good. You were more than willing to comply.

You rode in silence for a while before Rowena broke it.

"It was self-defense."

"What?" Sam asked, throwing a quick glance at the backseat.

"Dan's father. I killed him in self-defense," she explained. Her voice was uncharacteristically weak, almost broken. She needed you to know what had happened. More than that, she needed _Sam_ to know. The hunter had only recently become her friend. He'd given her a second chance at a time she most needed it. He was one of the few people who believed in her, who saw in her capacity for kindness, for redemption. She couldn't stand the thought of him doubting her.

"You don't have to explain," you told her, tightening your grip on her hand for emphasis.

It was no secret to you that she used to be a terrible person; she was one when you'd first met her. You'd learned long ago not to hold it against her. She was a product of a hard, cruel life. It wasn't an excuse for her actions, but it explained them. While you didn't approve of everything she'd done, you didn't hate her for it. You loved her too much to even consider the emotion.

Rowena was special, unique. She had flaws, countless of them, but she had just as many, if not more, virtues. Loving her, while far from easy, was one of the best decisions your heart had ever made.

"I do," she said. "It was ten years ago. It's no secret I used to be a horrible person, but in this case, I was attacked unprovoked. I was minding my own business when that hunter showed up and tried to kill me. Almost succeeded, too. I got lucky and killed him, instead." Her lower lip trembled. "I had to, Sam."

Much to both of your surprise, he said, "I know."

"Please, believe me."

"I do."

Rowena let out a long, shaky breath, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

"Hunters aren't saints," Sam said. "Believe me, I've met my fair share of rogues. Some of them cross the line. Hell, there were times I crossed the line. You don't have to feel bad for defending yourself."

"Everyone has a right to defend themselves, witch or not," you said.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Now, some people may hold it against you, but I don't. You've made progress. What happened before doesn't matter. I'm not saying you shouldn't feel remorse for hurting innocent people, but some things you have to let go. You weren't all bad back then. No one is. Even the most evil people sometimes get treated unjustly."

Rowena nodded, taking in his words. You had to admit you didn't expect this. You knew Sam could be lenient, but this… He'd managed to surprise you — for once, in a good way. Maybe his and Rowena's friendship wasn't such a bad idea after all.

The rest of the ride was silent. There was a bit of a debate over whether to take you and Rowena to the Bunker or your own home, but it was quickly decided that your home was the place to go. Rowena's injuries, while bad, seemed rather mild in comparison to what Lucifer had inflicted on her a year ago. It was hard, and you'd made mistakes, but overall you'd managed to help her to the best of your ability; she'd had no complaints about your care. You could handle cuts and bruises. Both of you were immensely grateful to Sam for offering his assistance, but you didn't need it. He'd done more than enough for you both today.

Sam carried Rowena inside. You led him to the bedroom and instructed him to lower her there. Rowena argued at first, not wanting to get blood on the bedclothes, but you quickly shot her down. Sheets could easily be changed and washed. There was no reason for her to lie on the couch when the bed was right there, big and soft and, most important of all, comfortable. She needed comfort more than anything now.

You walked Sam to the door and thanked him profusely. The extent of your gratitude couldn't be put in words. You offered him a favor, but he said there was no need; Rowena was his friend and he was glad to have been able to help. All he asked was that you take good care of her, something you were more than eager to do. Rowena would get the best kind of care you could provide her.

"Okay," you said as you looked over the necessities you'd brought to the bedroom, making sure you had what you needed. A small bucket of clean warm water, a few cloths, baby wipes, and bandages. Everything was there. Perfect. "Let's get started."

Rowena groaned. As much as she needed help, she hated the process of getting it. You couldn't blame her; someone's hands all over you, touching everywhere, poking and prodding at your already aching wounds as they cleaned them would make you uncomfortable, as well. She was a confident woman, used to independence. Being weak in front of someone she knew would never exploit it still bothered her — probably more than she was willing to let show. Too many had used that state of hers to take advantage and left her for dead. Two years of genuine relationship couldn't erase that kind of trauma.

"Hey, this is for your own good," you said sweetly. Your preferred tone for speaking with her when she was like this. Show her kindness, and she would give in. She always did. Contrary to what most people seemed to believe, Rowena reacted well the kindness. She just needed a chance, and a bit of time. Two little things, yet people were often too cheap to give them to her. All they saw was an evil witch. You saw the love of your life, aching, traumatized, and in need. "I'll be gentle."

Rowena grinned. "You better," she said in mock threat.

"Or what?" you teased.

"I will hex you."

"Oh, I'm scared."

"You should be!"

"And would the hexing take place before or after I patch you up?"

She pondered on it a short moment. "After. It's awfully hard to do magic in this condition."

"Seems kinda unfair," you said. "I take care of you, and you hex me."

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Life is not fair, darling."

"What's stopping me from just walking away and leaving you here?"

"You love me." She gave you her biggest puppy eyes, and adorned the already adorable, irresistible expression with a pout.

You chuckled. "My little manipulator." You took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, then leaned down to kiss the top of her head. She always won the banter games. "Need something for the pain?"

Rowena shook her head. "I'm good. Though I could use a cup of tea." She shot you a pleading look, puppy eyes still in place.

"After I finish, okay?"

She nodded.

You engaged in small talk as you worked. If you kept her talking, you thought, it would keep her mind focused on something other than the pain. It seemed to be working. Rowena hissed and groaned as you wiped and dabbed at the blood on her face, carefully cleaning it. She gave no protests, though. Other than the occasional plea to be more gentle, she let you work in peace.

Her foot was a bitch to clean. There was a lot of blood, and in its center was a terrible-looking cut. The bastard had cut her deep. You grit your teeth in anger. If only you'd wounded him. You could have cut him just like this, all over his body. A taste of his own medicine would have taught him not to torture people you loved. The injury required stitches, but Rowena insisted that you only bandage it. She would heal herself tomorrow, she said. There was no point wasting your time on an injury that would be gone as soon as she got some rest and replenished her strength. She could handle a bit of pain; it would only be for a few hours. You tried to argue, but it was no use — her mind was made up. So you did as she asked. It was her body. If she said she would be okay, you respected it.

Undressing her almost made you weep. You knew there would be bruises under her clothes, but never, in your wildest dreams, could you have predicted her chest and abdomen would be black and blue. Rowena, taking notice of your concerned expression, was quick to assure you she was okay. They were just bruises, she sad. Just marks on her skin. They didn't even hurt unless touched. Just like the cut on her sole, they would be gone in less than twelve hours.

Which meant she would be in pain for almost twelve hours. The realization pierced painful holes through your already aching heart.

Once you were done, you helped Rowena put on a nightgown and tucked her into bed, taking great care not to aggravate her injuries too much as you assisted her to move under the covers and made sure she was wrapped up good and warm. She was cooperative, and that made it easier. In the past, she used to complain about every single thing, at times outright refusing help. Needing help meant she was weak, and she was _not_ weak, and she was more than willing to prove it by being as difficult as possible and making her injuries worse in the process. You were glad those days were behind you.

"Need anything else?" you asked, on your way to make her tea.

Rowena shifted uncomfortably. Her cheeks flushed red, embarrassed, shameful. She averted her eyes for a short moment, then locked them back with yours, the look in them sad, broken, expecting judgment. "Could-could I get something for the pain?"

"Of course! I'll make you a potion," you replied, and she nodded, breathing out in what appeared to be relief. Your lips brushed against the top of her head in a soft kiss. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Dan was the one who did this to her. If anyone should have been ashamed, it was him. "Anything else? You hungry?"

She shook her head. "Could you stay with me? When you return."

"That was the plan," you said, flashing her a wide, loving smile.

She returned the gesture. "And when I sleep?"

"I'll be here," you promised. "You gonna do something for me?"

"What?" she asked.

"Stay in bed. If you need something, I'll get it for you. If you need to go to the bathroom, I'll take you. I don't want you walking on that foot until it's healed."

"I am not a child, Y/N" Rowena said defiantly.

"No, but you're hurt. Let me help."

She stared at you for a moment, then rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine. So bossy."

"So stubborn," you retorted. She hmphed. You giggled, which earned you a glare, and when that didn't help, a pout. "Cutie."

"I am not cute."

"You're adorable."

She scowled in disapproval.

"Be a good girl, and once all this is over, you and I can engage in some… unchildlike activities," you proposed.

That caught her interest. "I like the sound of that."

You laughed. You knew she would.

With a kiss to the tip of her nose, you went to prepare her desired beverages. When you returned, you found Rowena exactly as you'd left her; on her back, cocooned in blankets like a newborn, and pouting. You went to take a quick shower while she drank her tea. You tried to hold the cup of potion up to her mouth, but one glare from her was enough for you to drop the idea. She was a big girl. Injured and a wee bit helpless, but still big. She didn't need help drinking. Oh, well. Her choice. You stuck around until she finished the potion, though, much to her displeasure, just to be sure she could do it. Better safe than sorry.

By the time you returned, the tea was long gone. You slid under the covers and turned on your side so you could face her. Without a word, Rowena turned to you and snuggled close. She kept her lips firmly shut, but the grimaces gave away her pain.

"Are you sure this is okay?" you asked as she settled against you, warm and soft like a kitten seeking comfort.

"Aye," she replied. She looked up at you. "Unless you don't want to hold me."

"When have I ever said no to that?" Never, and you never would. "I just don't wanna hurt you."

A few years back, she would have been irritated at the suggestion. Now, she just smiled. She knew you wouldn't patronize her, or make her out to be a helpless victim who can't do anything on her own. You were just worried. You cared about her. You _loved_ her. Your words came from a place of concern rather than mockery.

"Och, I'll be fine. I'm not made of glass, Y/N. If anything bothers me, I will tell you. As you know, I can be quite vocal about that."

Wasn't that the truth. If there was one thing you knew about Rowena, it was that she could complain about anything. _Anything._ From the weather to her tea not being the right temperature; nothing was off limits. The woman had no filter. If she was bothered by something, no matter how miniscule it was, she made sure anyone in close vicinity knew about it.

You laughed. "Yeah, I know."

Gently, carefully, you put your arms around her. You held her to you; you expected a hiss or groan of protest, but when none came, you allowed yourself to tighten your grip a bit and bring her closer. She fit against your body perfectly, like a piece of a puzzle created solely for your body. A tender little thing she was. It was easy to forget this outspoken, tough woman was frail. That she could hurt and feel and break apart just like everybody else. That she was a person with twice as many virtues as flaws.

"This good?" you asked.

"Aye," Rowena replied.

"You okay?"

She nodded. "The potion is working."

You swallowed, expression suddenly growing sullen. "No, I meant, are you okay about today?"

"You mean, being kidnapped and tortured?"

Expect her to be blunt.

"Yeah."

"Eh," she said with a tad of nonchalance. "Been through worse."

That was an understatement of the century.

"I know, but still…"

"Like I said, dear, I'm not made of glass. It's not my first encounter with a hunter. Or torture. I'm alive. He's not. Besides, he was an amateur." She snorted. "Beating, really? You'd think a hunter would know how to properly torture a witch."

You sighed. Expect her complain about the technique and quality of torture. Rowena MacLeod, ladies and gentlemen!

"Babe, you're something else," you commented.

"You knew that when you met me," she said.

"That I did."

Sticking by her was the best choice you'd ever made.

"Be here when I wake up?" Rowena said after a quiet moment.

"I'm not going anywhere," you said.

The two of you settled, closed your eyes, and slowly, one by one, drifted off into safe, peaceful sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely OswinTheStrange did the editing, as well as helped with the summary.


End file.
